If you've been following the story (and likely on the edge of your seat, with bated breathe for the big finale, like most of America), well, be thankful Scotty is in preschool today and I have time to type this up. 'Cause the ending is totally worth it.

Incredibly, Scotty slept through the Amazing Smith family's entire visit. This includes a skirmish between the children that may or may not involved scratching. I'm not sure who was the perpetrator and who was the victim, but the minute the cry erupted from the house, Courtney practically backflipped off the ladder (great form, nice landing - she's a former gymnast) to separate the kids. Jenny reluctantly came down from the ladder using her ninja prow-ness and did not break a single bone, despite my massive anxiety as I steadied the ladder. Seriously, these people just shot to the top of my list of "Must find/Make camp with" in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Incredibly helpful, skilled folks.

We headed to the park for the rest of the afternoon and came home to not only find the cat still in the tree, but a small crowd that had gathered under the tree. Apparently, all of our neighbors wanted to make sure we knew there was a cat in our tree. I was starting to feel like a pregnant woman who got the same questions over and over again - yes, I'm pregnant. It's a boy. Due in April. We know there's a cat in our tree. He's our cat. Yes, we have called everyone under the sun who could possibly remove him. No, people are incredibly unhelpful. Thanks for your concern. (FYI: totally not pregnant. Just wanted to confirm that. Simply using it as an example). Even the mom at the end of the block who has the super cute two-year old little girl came down. I've always felt like she was a bit snubbish (not snobbish, just snubbish - you know, like she keeps snubbing me despite my friendly waving). It was nice to chat with her, although I fear I just confirmed her beliefs that the people who live in the greyish-brown house with the pot of dead mums are serious whack-jobs.

You can't win 'em all.

My very sweet and wickedly funny friend Katie had the serious misfortune of posting a comment on Facebook page that brought her front and center into the situation. When I (mostly-jokingly) asked her if she had a tall ladder, she replied, "Yes, we do." Whoa, back up the bus. Seriously? And she was willing to share it? We chatted later in the night and ascertained that yes, they have the ladder but no, we do not believe it is high enough to reach Zigmund. Plus, she had done some research and discovered pillow cases and/or a cat carrier with a pulley-system are usually necessary for a high-tree cat rescue. Bravo to Katie for putting in 100x more effort than I did. I just kept pacing and yelling encouraging words to the cat throughout the day. Google was the farthest thing from my mind.

So I readied myself for a long night of Zigmund howling outside. The poor, pitiful creature looked miserable, but the idea was wait and trust, right? I can do this. Wait. Trust. Bugger me.

And then Katie called back three minutes later and informed me that her husband Ryan already had his shoes laced up and was on his way over. He also did not subscribe to the "wait and trust" method either and couldn't stomach the idea of Zigmund alone, cold, and hanging from a branch. Quite honestly, this is probably one of the most unselfish gestures I've ever heard of. It was dark and windy. This man had no ties to this cat but was willing to spend his Tuesday night climbing trees? For our cat-in-law? God bless this man.

Ryan also happens to be a detective with Las Vegas Metro, which made Scotty's entire night (and possibly his life). No squad car and no lights or siren, but he did have a very tall ladder AND a pick-up truck. Hello, new best friends.

And so, Rescue Attempt #2 commenced. With Ryan up in the tree and Brian at the base, Scotty ran around in the yard screaming, "Office CHEESE! Officer CHEESE!" (add "cheese" to anything and toddlers just die) while I shouted helpful advice like, "Careful!" "Are you sure you know what you are doing?" "Oh god, please don't fall!" The men finally came to the conclusion that the ladder was about 15 feet too short and Zigmund was not budging.

Just another typical night at our house...

Then the idea of building a "cat bridge" was launched.

What did everyone think of using a board or piece of plywood, from the roof, to allow Zigmund to traverse it safely? How do we get on the roof? Do we have any plywood? Would Zig even cross the "bridge"? Should I go and trademark the term "cat bridge"?

The boys scampered off to look for wood and "roof access." Allegedly, they were unable to get on the roof from the outside. So after locating a piece of peg board in the garage deemed strong enough to transport the 13-pound fur ball to safety, they then moved upstairs to the attic. As Brian stood on the stepladder, Scotty kept grabbing at his ankles, demanding he climb the ladder as well. Frustrated, Brian finally shouted, "Can you please get him out of here?" at me with a dismissive wave of his hand.

I glowered at him.

Here I had been the #1 guy on this rescue mission, the person leading the charge, since CatGate 2013 broke. And now I was being sent downstairs to tend to the child? How much more gender-defining was this mission going to become? Should I start sewing a blanket to catch Zigmund? Bake cookies? Gather some berries?

Sulking, I took the boy and headed downstairs to finish our fajitas. The men continued their trek into the attic, likely breathing in asbestos, while I waited for a leg to come shooting out of the ceiling. As Scotty and I sat glumly at the table, a loud meow broke me out of my pouting.

From the garage into the family room, looking slighly more puffy than usual and smelling like rosemary, in sauntered Zigmund. Just cool as a cucumber. A rosemary-infused cucumber.

And just like that, CatGate 2013 was over.

We're not sure if he jumped (there is a large rosemary bush directly under the tree), or simply came down the giant ladder that was left resting against the base. Either way, Zigmund was on solid ground and the men could return from their away-mission in the attic. And I could go beat some clothes against a rock.

So what did we learn from CatGate? I'm still trying to figure that out. Maybe the whole "wait and trust" thing does work. Maybe a carefully placed 20-foot ladder was the trick. Or, maybe Ryan, the cop with the heart of gold, was right. Because in his words, "maybe Zigmund just needed to know someone cared."

A blogger should never asked themselves, "What should I write about today?" because before they know it, they'll walk outside and find this:

The proverbial "cat up a tree." But in our case, it's literal.

That's Zigmund, our cat. Well, cat-in-law. Technically, he's my mom's, but we are hosting him during her stay in Vegas since the pet deposit at her apartment was outrageous. And non-refundable.

Sadly, I'm not sure if this is a reflection on my intelligence, but it took us fifteen minutes alone to discover Zigmund up a tree. Scotty and I both walked outside, calling his name, and we could hear him meowing but couldn't locate where it was coming from. I actually removed the tops of two water irrigation boxes (a Vegas thing - hard to explain), thinking he had gotten trapped inside. It was the three-year old who finally clued me in by looking up and exclaiming, "Mommy! Zigmund's in a TREE!" as though he had just seen pigs fly or a drive-by by the tooth fairy. My first thought? Very similar to Jennifer Lawrence's when she fell over her dress on the way to claim her Oscar. I'll give you a hint - it started with "F."

Immediately, I got on the phone. Because I was panicking, I called 4-11 instead of 3-11. The nice man listened to me extol about my cat-in-a-tree problem and promptly transferred me to the Humane Society for a nominal charge of $2.99. The Humane Society was not helpful; the woman said most cats come down on their own. (I was too afraid to ask about the cats who did NOT come down on their own). Then I called our lawn/tree service. The dispatcher told me she'd call any available guys in the area, but I had a feeling she was just placating me because Victor is still mad that I forced him to replace a section of dead grass earlier in the year at their expense. (Um, hello? You handle our lawn. If it doesn't look right, isn't that your job?) Note to self: stop pissing off the lawn people. They won't help in an emergency. Honey, Kim, not vinegar.

Then I made the very tough decision to call my mother. This was, after all, her cat.

And she handled it like there was nothing wrong. I knew Zig had previously been stuck in a tree in Indiana in 2008 after a brief kerfuffle with the neighborhood dog. My dad spent days calling people, coaxing the cat down, offering food and water, and finally began to construct an actual ramp to allow the cat to safely traverse when Zigmund ultimately jumped out and landed in a pile of soft leaves. That tree was much larger than this tree and with fewer side branches. Although the memory of my dad building a ramp - build it if they won't come - still makes me smile, I can't imagine this situation going on for two full days.

The Zig-meister in happier times

Karen handled the call like a true professional. She assured me the worst thing I could do was make a big ruckus at the base of the tree, agitating the cat further. As she said that, I surveyed my surroundings. Scotty was waving a green butterfly stick at the cat while jumping up and down, screaming "ZIGMUND! YOU COME DOWN...NOW!" and I paced and offered positive comments like, "We love you! We know you can do it!" If my mom's advice held true, I'm pretty sure Zigmund curled his paw at us in anger (and likely rolled his eyes) at some point during the morning.

So, heeding her words, I packed us up and went to the grocery store. We bought some bell peppers, a toy for Scotty, and some cat toys for Zigmund as a "welcome to solid ground" gift (if and when that happened.)

During lunch, the doorbell rang. It was our mail lady, reporting there is a cat in our tree. I explained the situation and she just looked at me like I was a lunatic. Scotty, of course, helped the situation by pretending to have his newly-acquired plastic alligator snap at Zigmund and the mail-lady.

And so, we wait. I find this situation totally comically because it's asking that I, the person who loves to manage and direct situations in an effort to keep everyone happy, safe and at status quo, simply WAIT and TRUST the cat to do what is best. Wait and trust? Are you kidding me? Those are not words in my vocabulary. But what other choice do I have?

What do hot air balloon people charge for cat rescues?

I'm not sure who will last longer - me or the cat.

And so, we move into our third hour of CatGate. Be sure to check back for updates...

Update: Yeah, I didn't listen to the "wait and trust" advice. I called in a few favors and the Amazing Smith family arrived on my doorstop within minutes. Jenny, the official cat whisperer, scaled the tree like a fearless ninja while playing cat noises from her phone. Courtney braced the ladder and kept the kids in line by shouting directions. Carson, barely pictured, stood valiantly by his mom and Samantha ignored the whole situation by drawing pictures on our easel inside. Though Zigmund refused the chicken, cat noises, and coaxing, I appreciate the effort!You know it's a true friend when they climb a tree to rescue your cat-in-law.

A few weeks ago, I was asked if I would like to review an advanced copy of "Secrets of an Organized Mom." Without knowing anything except the title, my reaction was an immediate and enthusiastic "YES!" Yes, yes, hell yes! Because if there is one thing I've learned over the last few years, being organized is hard and being a mom is hard. If there was someone out there who had figured out how to manage Matchbox cars and purge Play-doh, well, I'm all ears. Coincidentally, the request also came during the big closet re-do project. I realized that more than ever, I needed professional advice before we ever hung a shelf or bought a container. And that's what Barbara provided.

Easy to understand, humorous, and a quick read (all necessary to us moms - gotta keep our attention because STOP HARASSING THE CAT, SCOTT!, we juggle many things), Barbara managed to convince me that 1.) I was capable of an organized home and 2.) she was the lady to help me do it. She works from a four-step method of purge, design, organize, and maintain. Not exactly ground-breaking, as we have all watched enough episodes of "Hoarders" to know the drill, but when it's spelled out in black and white, it suddenly seems more attainable. She also offers mantras that again, I kinda knew, but seeing it in print brought it home. Do your least appealing task first. Focus on what you can change. Go digital. Buy hangers all of the same color. Basic, smart, sound advice. What's really special about this book, however, is that she breaks down organization for every room in the house. Every. Single. Room. To me, a Type-A person who appreciates attention to detail, this was a dream. What exactly am I supposed to do with products in the bathroom that just clutter the counters? Why does my desk look like a burial mound for receipts, junk mail, and bills? Regardless of what your "hot spot" area is - living room, laundry room, home office, or giant closet under the stairs currently housing 3,000 construction vehicles and six tubes of dried finger paint - Barbara provides step-by-step direction that is both practical and effective. She even includes an entire chapter on how to organize your baby's nursery or how to design the nursery to maximize efficiency and space. Definitely a must-read for all new moms or moms-to-be.

Ever the researcher, I decided to take a chapter of her book and apply to it. The closet redesign was successful and I used a million of her ideas (don't store things on the floor. Buy containers that match or compliment each other. Group like objects together [i.e. lunch supplies]), but that was a big project that involved paint, contractors and major supplies, and was not necessarily applicable or practical to the mom who just wants to feel more organized without breaking out the ruler and graph paper or checkbook. My target? The junk drawer by the computer doesn't even open anymore. While I don't lose sleep over it at night, it bugs me. Does it affect my mental health? Not really. But it's a waste of space and lord knows what is living in there. And it bugs me. Have I mentioned that it's very existence bugs me?

It bugs me.

So using her four-step system, I cleaned and sorted the drawer within 20 minutes. TWENTY MINUTES! This drawer has been a disaster for over a year, and a mere twenty minutes later, I can finally cross this one off of my to-do list. I purged out-of-date coupons, McDonald Monopoly game pieces, crumpled paper, used up Chapstick, random string and more random string. (why do we own so much string?) I didn't need to design the space as there was not much room, though space dividers probably could have been useful (and decorative). After sorting everything into piles, I put the warranty manual to the slow cooker in my pile of cookbooks, took all of Scotty's stuff upstairs, and made a little baggie of screws, keys, 3M wall hanging supplies. Then I put the correct items back in the drawer and organized them. Who knew we had two bottles cleaning spray for iProducts? And my label maker! He's back! Hooray! I had been looking for that little guy for months now. I wrapped up some cords and placed them back in the drawer, and viola! Project done. In twenty simple minutes.

So, thank you Barbara for providing excellent guidance. Honestly, I cannot wait to tackle other areas of my home. This has given me a whole new excitement for spring cleaning, which, let's face it, is the least exciting thing in the world.

Happy organizing, folks!

"Secrets of an Organized Mom" officially launches tomorrow, February 26, and is available in all major book stores, including Barnes & Noble and Amazon. An ebook version is also available on iTunes and Barnes & Noble. You can find more information, as well as a full list of retailers, at www.SecretsofanOrganizedMom.com. Big thanks to Julie at Hopscotch Communications for putting this on my radar!

I'm in Dallas at a conference for the weekend, so the blog will be even darker than it has been all week. While it's nice to have a little time away, at the risk of sounding soft, I miss my guys. I think the feeling might be mutual as this was Scotty's reaction when I told him I was going to Texas for a few days.

I promise I'll be back on Monday. In the meantime, enjoy your weekend. I'm off to eat my body weight in free Junior League lemon bars.

It only took two weeks and four trips to the Container Store. But -- it's done. Let's get to the pictures, shall we?

Before:

After:

From another angle:

Before:

After:

And my favorite? The clear bins from The Container Store that easily store all kinds of goodies for Scotty's lunch. My whole goal (among others) was to have a fast, easy way to pack his lunch in the morning. I'm usually coming straight from boot camp, and I need to get him ready for school, fed, and his lunch packed. Putting all of his snacks into bins where I can see the contents has really streamlined the process. Today, I clocked the packing process under 3 minutes from start to finish (including the time it took to slice an apple and some carrot sticks.) I simply used the shelving like an assembly line: milk, fruit snacks, applesauce, and then on to the kitchen for the fresh stuff.

And finally, Scotty's desk (i.e. "office"):

Before:

Despite the fact we are still missing switch covers (so close to being done!! So clooooose!), I am really pleased with the entire space. I wanted to avoid putting anything on the floor - that's what was killing us before. The shelving allowed us to finally utilize all of that great overhead area without cluttering precious floor space. Brian and Scotty spend a great deal of time in the closet building car washes out of Lincoln Logs (don't ask), and now they aren't cramped, crowded, or drowning in stuffed animals/blocks/random toys.

We are going to leave the "animal sanctuary" open for now. That little cut-out under the shelves is a nice little nook to crawl into. On Saturday night, I laid out Scotty's sleeping bag and the three of us snuggled in there with a stack of books. We each took turns reading, and having a three-year read a book to you is quite possibly the most wonderful experience of parenthood I have had so far. Obviously, he doesn't know the words, but listening to him make up the words was so stinkin' cute. ("Dis is a strawberry! And strawberries are red! And dis green thing on da strawberry is also part of the strawberry." [page turn] "Oh! Boats! I love boats!")

I wanted this space to fun AND functional, and I think we succeeded.

Some notes: We used four 12" and 16" platinum ventilated elfa shelving for all of the pantry shelves. We attempted to put baskets under the lower shelves, but unfortunately, they only come in 24" widths and the space was not the right size. For Scotty's desk, we used three white 12"x 25"a white desk top, and four baskets to create his area. All of the shelves are movable, including the desk top, and we plan to move it up as our little Bear grows.

The installation went very smoothly though aspects of our order were incorrectly package, causing several trips back to the store. I will say, The Container Store was very accommodating and even offered me a $15 gift card to make up for the extra trips. They have a wide variety of colored boxes (including those awesome Lego storage bins), desk supplies, pantry containers, baskets, and desk chairs. I love Scotty's blue Bungee chair almost as much as he does. Big thanks to the nice people at The Container Store for making our vision become a reality!

I've been a resident of the Silver State for just over eleven years now, and I'm sad to say, I have done little to explore the the history of this great land. Modern day Vegas was paved by some brave, tough cowboys, and on Tuesday, we got a chance to learn more about the people who helped shape our state.

Just off of west Route 159 (also known as Charleston Blvd) is a little community called Bonnie Springs. Started as a "tent city," it was a stopping point for settlers to break for the night and dig for water. According to our nice tour guide, neighboring Native Americans would raid the tent city at night and do "not nice things" to the settlers (she really had to wash down her descriptions as two toddlers were in the room.) Lots of people died in horrific ways: hatchets, guns, bears, disease. For a few moments during the tour, I felt like I was in "Parks and Rec," learning about the near-comical violent history of Pawnee. Bloodshed aside, let's not dwell on the bad stuff for too long.

Gorgeous blue skies, anyone?

Today, Bonnie Springs is a great little place to take the kids. The one-street village is lined with shops, a petting zoo, a restaurant and bar and a wax museum. There is even a simulation of what it is like to walk through an old mine shaft, though if you have problems with vertigo or balance, it's best to sit that one out. We were there on a day when they did not have any mock bar fights, gun fights, or hangings in the square (editor's note: I warned you about the violence). Our guide was kind enough to inform us that they really toned down the faux hangings as "the little ones" would get too upset. My eyebrows almost shot off my head at that comment. All righty, then...

Courtney, Sam, Caryn (Courtney's mom), Karen (my mom), Scotty and I spent the morning wandering through the various attractions. Not surprisingly, the petting zoo was the biggest hit. Like most things, my enthusiasm overrided my common sense. After taking two steps into the zoo and immediately being accosted by a rather aggressive deer attempting to snack on my Michael Kors collection bag, I remembered why I hate petting zoos. As I fought off the deer, I polled the group. "Who would rather be at Nordstrom?"

Courtney's hand immediately shot up.

Thankfully, my mother is a modern day Dr. Doolittle. She managed to control the animals while talking in a pleasant voice to the children about each. I could barely keep the panic out of my voice, especially when I stumbled on giant hogs not in a pen. Wasn't there a story out of Iowa about a farmer who fell into a pig pen and was eaten by his own hogs? Also, did I mention the wolves seemed agitated? Was a tsunami coming? There were desert mice running in and out of the exhibits - what's the name of that disease you can contract from breathing in the fumes from wild rodents' fecal matter? Anyone? Anyone?

Vegas living has made me soft. I am the Debbie Downer of petting zoos.

But the kids had a great time and my mother only shot me one or two withering looks (I really tried hard to keep my panic-ridden comments to myself). My purse made it out safely, though I can't say the same about Caryn's polka dot green sweater. Enter at your own risk, friends.

But the happy goat was worth the price of admission. Scotty (and Karen) loved him so much we went back for round two. I battled the deer while they petted the goat's beard.

Dr. D and her apt pupils

We had a great lunch at the restaurant, which overlooks a duck and turtle pond. Even the turtles seemed happy as they sunned themselves on rocks. I'm pretty sure one was smiling at us.

Scotty and Sam had a great time playing cowfolks, and happily climbed onto whatever equipment they could reach. Here, they are yelling "Yee-haw!' while riding the log. Ah, to be three.

Yeeeee-haw!

Overall, it was an excellent way to spend a morning. I'd recommend coming later in the week, since the shops are dark on Monday and Tuesday. It literally felt like we were on vacation as we strolled up and down the dusty street. We discussed the possibility of a joint family vacation at a dude ranch when the kids are a bit older, but ultimately couldn't stop laughing as we pictured our attorney husbands riding horses, eating canned beans, or willingly engaging in physical labor on a vacation. Does anyone know of any five-star dude ranches?

So if you get a chance, definitely check out Bonnie Springs. Scott and Sam were the perfect age to enjoy the fun. Best of all, if necessary, you could even do time-out the old-fashioned way.

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen...

For more information, check out their website at www.bonniesprings.com.

As we all know, parenting is the toughest job on the planet. Going it solo, however, well...it's not for the feint of heart. Between the constant running around, the juggling of schedules, and the feeling it's all on your shoulders, single parents have a lot to deal with. When friends and relative offer well-meaning, though tired, comments, it kinda makes you want to pull your hair out. Or write a Facebook post about what should and should not be said.

Karin, my friend from college (and fellow English major), did just that. Earlier this week, she offered some insight into her life. As a single parent to two adorable boys, ages 5 and 9, I'd imagine she's run the gamut of "stupid comments" from good-intended folks. To save her from yet another head-desk moment, I thought I'd publish her list, since I found it incredibly helpful. So in the spirit of open communication, here a couple things single parents never want to hear...

1. "You don't have family in town? So you don't have any help here?"

The saying "it takes a village" is not limited to family. I have the best friends, neighbors, teachers and co-workers in the world and I am eternally grateful for their help, support and love.

2. "How do you do everything you do?!"

I manage my time at a level that's considered anal retentive. It can be annoying to others. But it works for us. Plus, as I said before, it doesn't all get done. Sometimes, if you come over unexpectedly, you will probably see a dog hair or a little dust. Get over it.

Would it make me a better adult? Maybe. But easier? Hell no. I don't have to negotiate. I don't have to worry that someone doesn't eat spinach. I don't have more laundry to do or share the bathroom with another adult. And I'm cool with that.

5. "I'm a single parent this weekend!"

No, you aren't.

Unless you function on one income and are responsible, solely, for a minor's well-being the vast majority of the time, you are NOT a single parent. You are simply a parent who's significant other is not home for a few days. For what it is worth (and I know it isn't much), military spouses can say this all they want. People are trying to kill someone they love.